Loose Ends

This week I'm doing some house keeping, working on a few projects,  surfing and waiting for some film to develop.  Regular, Tuesday and Thursday, posts will be back next week.  In the mean time,  head over to the A Restless Transplant Facebook Page to see some flicks from the Oregon Coast that I shot on an Olympus XA.  I accidentally dropped the camera and the back popped open, giving the roll some light leeks.  Also, check out my travels on Instagram @fosterhuntington.

More links,

A Restless Transplant (Facebook),

#vanlife.

Twitter.

L.A. to Washougal

"How many days do you want to drive it in?" I asked my dad on speaker phone at a stoplight in Ventura.

"Well, at minimum, three but I would like to do more than that...I'm looking at flights right now into Burbank.  They are dirt cheap.  60$ one way with tax."

"I'm all for more days.  Three days would be a schlep.  Plus, the Syncro doesn't like I-5 much.  Lets take our time up the 1, or go up east through Death Valley and the Sierras."

"In December?  Are you fucking kidding me?  I'm not flying down from Washington to spend more time in cold weather. I want to see palm trees and eucalyptus groves."

"Ha I guess you're right.  Lets do the 1 then."

"Cool.  Tim and I will fly down on the 20th and we'll head back up to Washougal for Christmas.  This will be a blast."

As planned,  I picked them up at the Burbank airport a few days later and we headed north.  We took our time meandering up Route 1. Surfing, hiking and skateboarding, we made a few hundred miles each day.  At night,  we crammed into the back of the van and had snoring contests.

Picture this, three six footers (I'm 6'3, Tim's 6'8 and my dad's 6'1) in VW van, listening to the Grateful Dead and eating at taco trucks.

December denial.

A surf session in Bolinas.

Jalama Beach.

Shred sticks.

Could be anywhere in Latin America, but no, its Lincoln Heights.

Tshirts.

The Channel Islands.

We left the bulk of the driving for the last day and made it back to Washougal early Christmas morning.  I couldn't say exactly when, because Tim and I were asleep in the backseat.

Some memories are better captured on 35mm film.

Here are some more links,

Facebook,

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Fire on the Mountain

A few cars parked on the shoulder made me take a second look as I rounded the bend on 101 heading north on the Oregon coast.  Seeing cliffs, ocean and foam though the sparse trees,  I deliberated.   If I head back to Portland now,  it will be dark by the time I get back.  No point in hurrying. Some few hundred feet past the pull out,  I turned around in a gap in traffic and headed back to investigate.

Turning off the ignition, I unplugged my iPhone from the stereo and kept Fire on the Mountain Cornell 77' playing through the speaker phone.  An unseasonal south wind blew in warm air,  making January 1st feel like April and I left my sweater in the backseat.  "Blooop Blooop" my alarm sounded as I shoved  my phone in my breast pocket, and grabbed my camera.

Disregarding the family of four walking towards me on the trail,  I continued my air guitar solo and passed with a smile, hair still wet from a surf session at Short Sands.

"I wonder if they can guess which car is mine?" I chuckled to myself.

The sound of waves bashing against the cliffs beckoned.

Soon,  the trees and land stopped, abruptly,  a few hundred feet above the ocean.   From this vantage point, the swells' dark shadows lined up towards the horizon. Hopping the fence,  I brushed some gravel off a ledge and sat. Fire on the Mountain wound down to some cheers from stoned college kids now in their 50s.  Being in no rush,  I pulled out the my phone and pushed repeat.

What if...

Pebble throwing,  idea jotting.

As far west as it gets.

Narrow.

An hour of daydreaming,  pebble throwing and wave watching passed.  Despite feeling like April,  January shadows reminded me of my hour and a half drive back to Portland.  Taking one last look,  I climbed back over the wire fence and walked back towards the pulloff.

Happy New Year.  Longer days are coming.

Here are some more links,

Scarlet/Fire on the Mountain (Cornell 77),

Out of Reception.

Facebook.

Dark and Stormy

The river along US-26 boiled like two week old coffee down the drain.  Rounding the last corner before merging with 101,  a gust of wind shook the Syncro's flat sides, forcing me to take a kiddy pool sized puddle head on.  With a crrrrshhh, we displaced half the puddles contents onto a Toyota Tacoma in the oncoming lane.   For the last few hours,  the rain had battled with the fastest setting of the windshield wipers.   Advantage rain.

Pulling off the highway a few miles south, the streets of Canon Beach were empty save for a few SUVs and local pickups.  Gusts on the flags at souvenir shops and water around the storm drains hinted at why.   Eager to catch a glimpse of the ocean,  I pulled off onto a side street.  Familiar with the saying, "We'll get'em when he comes back in," well the last scene of Point Break was filmed at this beach in similar conditions.

"That looks like...hell," my mom said rolling down the windows to get a better view.

"Yah.  Wow,  that's what a half mile of whitewater looks like."

"Let's go for a walk."

"A walk?"  Looking down the beach I spotted a lone person leaning at a twenty degree angle into the wind. "Yeah lets."

Shortsands Beach.

Serious #vanlife envy.  These Mitsubishi Delica's can't be imported into the US, but our friends to the north, and the rest of the world, can get one for a few grand.  They are 4wd, come in turbo diesel and get between 25 and 30 MPG.

A duly named street.

Some fresh driftwood.

Wet.

Taking it all in.

It's often said that, "the Pacific Northwest has two seasons,  August and 11 months of rain and fog."  While I agree with this maxim,  it fails to capture the violence and intensity of the storms that charge down from the Aleutian Islands in the "Winter Months."   Before bringing waves to Hawaii's north shore,  these storms slam into the PNW as feral beasts, pulling trees from the ground, flooding rivers and closing harbors.  They breaking up the endless months of fog and mist,  with weather alerts and road closures.  Nowhere is their power more evident than on the northern Oregon Coast.  They make you feel small and vulnerable.

Here are some more links,

Facebook,

Twitter.